


Little Punk

by trash_freak



Category: Pocket Mortys, Rick and Morty
Genre: Come Swallowing, Dom/sub, Forced Orgasm, Gangbang, Knotting, M/M, Overstimulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Spitroasting, dubcon, this is really gross guys jsyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_freak/pseuds/trash_freak
Summary: Punk Morty loses a fight. Rick reminds him what losers get.-in which the strong mortys get to play with the weaker mortysand punk morty has been the strongest for maybe a little too long





	Little Punk

Punk Morty hits the ground, hard, and Rick sends in the Dog who somehow ends up winning where Punk Morty couldn’t.

Morty is only vaguely aware of the victory, and Dog Morty yipping happily when Rick tells him he’s a good boy, because his head is spinning enough that he feels like he’s about to fall right off the planet.

Rick looms over him, tells him, “I’m dis-eurhhhhhh-pointed, Punk,” the words sounding far away through the throbbing in Morty’s head.

“W-whatever, Rick,” Morty slurs, dizzy and confused, sprawled on his back in the dirt. His face burning from the humiliation of losing to a fucking _Jerry Fan._ Jesus.

His nose is dripping blood, his piercing ripped out, taste of copper thick on his tongue. He can’t see quite right in his left eye, everything tinted pink. His cheek is throbbing from where the Jerry Fan had bit him. That crazy little shit’d had a lot of serious rage issues.

The other four Mortys that Rick took with him today all bustle around, whispering amongst themselves, probably over the fucking moon to see Morty lose.

Rick Fan Morty pipes up, looking up at Rick with wide, adoring eyes, hands clasped tightly around his creepy little Rick doll. “Wha-what happens to losers, Rick?”

Morty’s blood seems to chill in his veins, his headache flaring up hard with stress. That little fuck is trying to throw Morty under the fucking bus.

“Shut y-your fucking suck-up mouth, brown nose, before I break your damn teeth,” Morty spits, pushing himself up off the ground to sit upright, still feeling too shaky to stand on his own.

“No, no,” Rick says, with a menace that’s making Morty feel sick. What’s going on, here? It was just one fucking fight. “My number one fan has a point, there, Punk.”

Rick Fan looks like he’s about to cream his fucking pants from the scrap of praise, and Morty’s stomach turns. He looks around at the other Mortys, hoping to see at least one on his side, but all he sees is vicious excitement.

Sure, maybe Morty has taken out his frustrations on the other boys a little too hard now and then, but he hates sharing his Rick with these other, weird versions of himself, and Rick had always encouraged it, always told Morty how proud he is of Morty’s strength, of how ruthless Morty often gets.

He’s still the strongest.

Right?

Dog Morty is wagging his tail in blatant excitement, Rick Fan shifting from foot to foot, Unicorn Morty blushing hard and smiling for the first time since Rick caught him.

The Boring Morty, the plain one, the one Morty hates most for the way Rick will touch his shoulder or pet his hair, the way Rick will call him _‘my Morty’_ like he’s different when he’s _anything but_ \- that Morty advances, points a finger at Morty slumped on the ground.

“I think- I-I think all of us have had enough of y-y-your attitude, Punk Morty.”

Rick steps forward, shoving his groupie off him to stand next to Boring Morty, puts a hand on the whiny little prick’s shoulder, and says, “I thi _urrrrr_ -ink it’s time we get home, huh, Mor-Morty?”

Morty _hates_ that boring piece of shit more every day, every time Rick calls Morty ‘Punk’ and calls this nagging _bitch_ ‘Morty’, like- like Rick isn’t _his_ Rick.

There’s that manic look Rick gets, shining in his eyes, only this time it’s directed at _Morty._

“Uh. W-we are going to the healing centre first... right, Rick?”

The nerves clattering around in Morty’s belly begin to buzz hard enough Morty thinks he might be sick.

Rick smirks, ruthless.

He takes Morty by his bruised arm and yanks him to his feet, drags him into the blinding green of a portal.

Rick wastes no time when they get home; yanks Morty’s jeans down to his ankles, trapping his feet together, and bends Morty over the side of the armchair, all his weight pressing down across his collarbones and hips, his soft dick trapped between his thigh and the arm of the chair, his head hanging down, arms bent awkward against the chair cushion.

Rick lubes him up crudely, fingers him open fast and just a little too dry, and Morty can see the Dog’s freaky pink erection in his peripheral vision.

He hears Rick telling the Dog, “You g _uuuuuuuuh_ \- got first dibs, puppy, for being such a good fighter- such a good boy,” and Dog Morty is whining impatiently, and then Rick’s pulling back, and Morty feels soft, warm fur all along the backs of his thighs, and then-

Then Morty finally starts crying, because it’s been a long time since he’s lost a fight, and Rick didn’t prep him long enough, and Rick is pulling at Morty’s messy green hair, mohawk long fallen out.

“Morty,” Rick says, and for one short moment Morty thinks he’s talking to _him,_ until the Boring Morty comes into view, and Morty scowls hard up at the both of them. “You take this end, babe- baby,” Rick says, pulling Morty’s head up harder, and Morty spits blood at the dull fuck.

“You might wanna- might wanna behave yourself, _Punk,_ ” Boring Morty says, voice nasty. “You don’t need your teeth to fight.”

“Jesus, Morty,” Rick laughs, palming at his own erection through his trousers. “You gon- gonna give it good, baby boy?”

“Damn right I- I am,” Boring Morty says, hands fumbling angrily at his jeans button.

Dog Morty is pounding, enthusiastic, the pain gradually subsiding, and Rick’s words from months before – “Every Mouuuuurghty is a bottom at h _urr_ -heart, Punk,” as he fucked Morty deep, made him come without even touching his dick – those words come back to him now as his cock gets hard, every pull and push inside his ass seeming to force more blood down into his dick.

Morty feels the swell of the Dog’s forming knot press against his hole, and he’s panting, spreading his legs wider, as much as his tied ankles will allow, face hot with shame but unable to hide how much he wants it.

“You enjoying it, Punk? Y-y-you having a good time?” Rick asks, snide, his fingers forcing Morty’s mouth open. “Enjoy it while you can, little boy,” Rick says, booze-wet mouth pressed close to Morty’s ear, sending a helpless shudder right through him. Rick’s voice goes rough, _sadistic,_ when he continues: “You’re gonna be- g-gonna be begging for it to stop soon enough.”

Boring Morty pushes inside, right down Morty’s throat, easy with how his head is pulled back, his dick forcing past the ring of muscle trying to keep him out. Morty wants to gag, feels like he’s choking, like he’s suffocating, light-headed with lack of oxygen and a possible concussion, and as his vision blurs everything heightens, his nerve-endings thrumming.

Dog Morty is whining, growling, biting at Morty’s t-shirt and pulling it taut across his already oxygen-deprived throat, and it’s too much, too full, the push and pull in both his throat and ass, Rick’s fingers tight in his hair, at his jaw.

The Dog howls, his dick swelling even more, and then he’s shoving his knot inside, stretching Morty out more than he’s ever felt, filling him up, hips still moving like he still wants to keep fucking into Morty even after they’re stuck together, and the tug of the knot against the inside of his ass, the way the Dog’s dick is taking up every part of him and pressing relentless against his prostate, combines with the dizzy euphoria in his brain.

Morty comes hard enough that his balls _ache._ He feels delirious, overwhelmed, sharp pain in his ass as it tightens around the Dog’s cock, throat tensing around the Boring Morty, and his belly feels swollen, filled with come from both ends. Morty feels stuffed full to bursting, feels _sick_ with it.

Dog Morty laps at the sweat at the back of Morty’s neck and ears, Boring Morty pulls out, and Morty takes huge, gasping breaths, coughs and chokes and feels like he’s just been force fed sand. Saliva and come drips from his chin, the smell overpowering, making Morty heave.

The moment Boring Morty pulls back, breathing hard and stumbling away, Rick Fan takes his place, grabbing at Morty’s ears and pushing into Morty’s swollen throat.

When Morty tries to push him away, Rick’s hand leaves his jaw for a second to pull his arms back one at a time, Dog Morty’s paws holding them behind Morty’s back, obedient. Rick’s fingers bite painfully into Morty’s jaw when they return.

“Uh uh, not yet,” Rick murmurs. “You’re-y-you-you’re nowhere near finished, buddy.”

Morty tries to yell, can’t hold it back any more, and Rick Fan near _wails_ at the vibrations, rams into Morty’s throat harder, pushing Morty back into the Dog and getting him going again. The knot pulls at Morty’s hole, shoves into Morty’s prostrate, and again, and again, and Morty is shaking, face wet with tears and drool and blood, his dick soft and leaking pitifully.

“Tha-that’s it, Punk, gonna fill you up, know you can take more, come on,” Rick urges, intensely quiet, making Morty moan pathetically around the twitching dick in his mouth.

Once Rick Fan, that fucking nasty ass creep, finishes with an unpleasant whine, Unicorn Morty is there, his dick even bigger, stretching Morty’s jaw and throat wider, huffing delicately.

Morty can’t help but think of the way the skinny little thing whinnies when he’s the one getting fucked, the way he bucks when Morty pulls him back by his horn. This one is Morty’s favourite to fuck, quietly defiant and stronger than he looks, tight around Morty’s cock. So very _pretty._

Morty finds himself sucking as best he can, dick still soft but a small spark of enthusiasm rearing up inside him. He feels overstimulated and mindless, lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly filled up, thoughts deliriously stuck on the way Unicorn Morty’s tears cling to the flare of his perfect eyelashes. He wants to know if Unicorn Morty whinnies just the same getting his dick sucked as he does getting his ass fucked.

Morty can feel the Dog’s excited slobber dripping against his neck and straining shoulders, and, fuck, the Unicorn is lasting too long, making Morty’s throat feel scraped raw. 

“You’ve needed this f- _ourgh_ -or weeks, you arrogant little slut,” Rick pants, clearly getting worked up now, hand so tight in Morty’s hair he’s sure he’s gonna rip a handful of green right out. “God, _fuck,_ little Punk, hope he does-doesn’t last much longer, wanna fuck your throat, can’t stand the sight of you like this.”

Unicorn Morty huffs, stamps his foot hard, whines, and, yes, whinnies. Whinnies just like when his ass is getting pounded, his voice going high pitched as he pushes in and comes, long, too long, too much, the mess overflowing and spilling down Morty’s nose.

“Please, Rick, I can’t, I-I-I can’t,” Morty splutters and slurs as soon as Unicorn Morty pulls out, but Rick ignores him, straightening up and unbuckling his belt.

Rick grabs Morty by the shoulders and pushes him back on Dog Morty’s dick, making it nudge Morty’s prostate, sparking little flickers of pleasure through him.

“Please, no more,” Morty pants as Rick rests the tip of his dick against Morty’s quivering bottom lip.

“Shhhh,” Rick says, strangely soothing even as his pushes his dick against Morty’s tongue. He pets, almost tender, across the shaved hair at the side of Morty’s head, gentle behind Morty’s ear, voice smug as he pulls lightly at Morty’s earlobe. “I told you y-you’d beg.”

Rick’s fingers dance down Morty’s jaw, and Morty’s mouth drops opens, doesn’t fight as Rick pushes slowly deeper inside. His hand smooths across Morty’s neck, presses down briefly to cut off Morty’s breathing for just a second, a reminder of who is and always will be in charge here.

“You were getting just a- just a bit too cocky, Punk,” Rick says, pushing the very tip of his dick against Morty’s tonsils, just enough to make Morty gag, throat fluttering, making Rick sigh, his hand moving to cup the back of Morty’s head.

He pulls Morty forward, choking him, making the Dog’s knot pull at his insides, then pushes Morty back; pulls, to fuck deeper into Morty’s mouth, then pushes to impale Morty again on the Dog’s cock. Again, again, again, slow, drawing it out, making it last, and Morty’s getting hard again, and he’s crying again, and the Dog is whining and drooling on the back of his neck, and Rick is groaning, grip on Morty’s shoulder slipping down to Morty’s upper arm, spreading yet more bruises across Morty’s flushed body.

Morty is moaning as much as he’s gagging, his fists clenched hard at the base of his spine, every muscle tensed and ready for the build up of pleasure to reach its peak.

But the Dog’s knot is shrinking down, and finally slips out as Rick starts shoving down Morty’s wrecked throat faster, deeper, and groans loud and relieved as he comes, pulling back to fully coat Morty’s tongue and chin.

Morty is gasping and choking, retching, coughing up come and blood all over the dirty carpet.

His dick is aching, his belly painfully swollen, his back bowed uncomfortably where he’s draped across the chair. Barely notices when Rick moves to pull the belt from the jeans tangled around Morty’s ankles, until he feels the leather being wrapped around his wrists, still twisted awkwardly behind his back even after the Dog had let go.

“Rick,” Morty gasps, hurting and tired and so, so close to coming.

“You wanna come, Punk?” Rick asks, petting down Morty’s side.

“Ye-yeah- yes, yes,” Morty wheezes, each word like broken glass across his voicebox.

“W- _wuuuhhhhh_ -ait right there, buddy,” Rick slurs, patting Morty’s butt lightly before shuffling sleepily away.

He’s back a minute later, crouches down in front of Morty’s limp head, has to lift Morty’s face for him, holding Morty’s chin delicately.

When Rick raises his other hand to show Morty the Hitachi Wand he’s holding, Morty abruptly changes his mind. He’s spent hours teasing and torturing the weaker Morty’s with the toy, and the way he’s taken some of them apart, had them sobbing and pleading – he can’t take that, not after everything he’s already been put through today. He fights feebly against the belt around his wrists, tries to shake his head, but Rick’s grip tightens.

“I thought you liked p _uh_ -laying with this thi-ing?” Rick says with a wild grin.

Rick flicks the switch on the Wand, the buzzing of the vibrations making Morty jolt, and Rick looks behind Morty to where Morty assumes the other boys are stood watching.

“Mor-uh-orty, come’ere, Morty,” Rick says, gesturing with the vibrator, the Boring Morty coming into view. Rick hands the Wand over, ruffles Boring Morty’s hair, and says, making Morty’s chest heavy with dread: “Have fun, boys.” He casts one last look at Morty, bound and sweating, before taking himself off to bed with a dark chuckle.

Morty can hear the other boys close in around him, and he lets his head hang down, exhausted and resigned to a long, sleepless night.

**Author's Note:**

> god i whacked this out so fast (if you catch my drift)  
> so if there are a million typos it's because i was typing like woah
> 
> heavily inspired by the wonderful riseabovefocusonscience  
> go see their tumblr: riseabovefocusonscience.tumblr.com  
> they're great
> 
> i find the pocket mortys universe fascinating  
> because every single morty you catch thinks you're their rick.  
> they all think they're your original morty.  
> must cause a bit of jealousy.  
> and, oh, how they must all hate rick's actual morty,  
> because imo he'll always be rick's fave even if he isn't the strongest.
> 
> pocket mortys is a true gift and i am forever grateful.


End file.
